Blade of Orlais
by equinexus
Summary: As a Bard in service to the Imperial Court of Orlais, Gervais Andras works as a personal assassin of the Empress Celine I, carrying out her orders under the guise of a minstrel.


The bathwater of the porcelain tub steamed from the heat, the rose petals spread within leaving a soft scent in the air of the room. Candles lined the edges of the tub, sufficiently lighting the highly decorated and furnished washroom. Burgundy linens fresh from the laundry were laid out, ready to be worn.

Shedding the remains of his garbs, the lone inhabitant of the grand washroom tiredly peeled his blood-soaked clothing from his skin, letting them fall to the floor beside his armor. Completely nude to the world, he inhaled the scent of the roses deeply before a small smile emerged from the corner of his mouth.

"I am spoiled," said the inhabitant, his _Orlesian_ accent heavy as he stepped towards the bath. Just as he was about to sink a toe into the waters, he noticed an envelope sitting atop his fresh clothing, making his elven ears perk up in surprise. The wax seal on the envelope had the symbol of the Empress Celine I, and he was instantly intrigued by it.

Plucking the envelope from atop the linens, he lowered himself into the bath, the waters quickly darkening as the blood lifted from his pale skin. He relaxed a moment, running his fingers over the wax seal just once before dunking his head beneath the waters, his ebony hair flattening around his shoulders as it dampened. Holding the envelope above the waters, he sighed lightly before he pulled a diminutive razor from the hidden side of the tub, cutting through the wax seal and opening the letter.

"I have been most pleased by your work, Gervais Andras. You are to attend an upcoming ball, hosted by Gerard Lambert. He is in need of your song. I trust he will be most entertained."

The elf's piercing blue optics scanned over the letter before he held it over the flames of a nearby candle, setting it afire. He did not have to read it twice to understand its meaning.

"It appears I shall dance with the wolves of _Orlais_," muttered Gervais as he watched the letter burn away, leaving only floating embers and ash.

**_Val Royeaux, home of the aristocratic Lambert family…_**

The ball was both grandiose and lively, filled with hundreds of guests all clamoring about the latest fashions and gossip. The ladies of _Orlais_ donned extravagant gowns, textured and bejeweled to match their finest pair of slippers. Men stood gallantly besides their prized women, their buttons and boots polished to reflect even the slightest hint of light.

Clad in attire that complimented his sharp, angled features, Gervais glided through the maze of people with hardly a glance from the male partygoers. Apart from the occasional interested lady scooping up his arm and making her best attempts to lure him back to her chambers, he made polite conversation as he slowly gravitated towards the host of the party; Gerard Lambert.

The blonde aristocrat stood near his latest prized possession, a painting of _Emperor Drakon_, founder of _Orlais_. Showing off quite shamelessly, Lambert drew the attention of a dozen guests, discussing the painting and occasionally bringing laughter from the group.

Gervais knew he had to gain the socialite's attention, one way or another.

Approaching the painting, he gently eased into the group, the guests unaware of his intrusion.

"Quite a brutish man, wasn't he?" commented Lambert as he gazed at _Drakon_'s portrait, bringing giggles from the women of the crowd and chuckles from the males.

"Sometimes a man of brutish nature is needed to secure the safety of a nation," responded Gervais in his thick accent, being sure to speak in his most enchanting tone, silencing the group as they all turned to seek out the owner of the voice. Once they eyed the _Orlesian_ elf, their eyebrows rose, waiting for Lambert's reply.

"Oh?" asked Lambert, the elf catching a glimpse of curiosity, and interest, from the human's eyes. "And who might you be?"

"_Excusez-moi_, my Lord. I am a minstrel, here to entertain at your request," said the elf, bowing politely, his silky black hair falling about his ears before raising his eyes shyly at the aristocrat, who enjoyed the sight of the timid elf.

"Is that so? I should like to sample your skills, minstrel," said the Lambert, Gervais picking up the hidden suggestiveness. "For now, let's hear a song. Impress me and I may have a permanent position open for you here."

"I will do my best to please you," said Gervais, his lusty gaze locking onto Lambert's, bringing a gulp of anticipation from the lord.

Lambert proceeded to hush the nearby groups of guests with an announcement. "Quiet down! A minstrel is here to sing for us," said the blonde, and after a brief moment there was silence. With a gesture of his hand, Lambert urged Gervais to begin his performance.

Adjusting his clothing, Gervais became surrounded by the large group of _Orlesians_, and he cleared his throat before speaking. "I will sing the song of wolves, for the ones who live amongst us," said the elf in his melodic, soothing voice, chuckling inwardly at his secret insult. These aristocrats were indeed wolves, constantly ripping out the throats of their competitors for a bigger piece of meat.

Unaware of his true meaning, the _Orlesians_ were engaged immediately by his mysterious statement, his mesmerizing looks and voice drawing their full attention.

"_Blanc ou noir comme toi je pars au loin,_

_avec l'espoir de changer le destin._

_Bien que dans le corps l'âme embrase,_

_dans l'obscurité la distance devient infinie_."

The guests began whispering amongst themselves, surprised by how well this elven minstrel sung.

"_Avec des jeunes vêtus en peau de bête,_

_on danse ensemble au milieu des tempêtes._

_Un autre horizon se dissout_

_dans la lumière des yeux qui veulent se reveiller_."

Lambert was clearly captivated, staring with his mouth parted and his eyes wide as the song came to its conclusion.

"_Et, j'attend là,_

_où rien bouge maintenant._

_Même si je ne te vois pas_

_je peux retrouver ce que l'on cherche dans la nuit._

_Même si c'est très difficile_

_je danserai mon chemin avec les loups_."

When the song ended, Lambert instantly began clapping, the rest of his party following suit as Gervais bowed politely to them.

"Outstanding!" a voice from the crowd yelled above the clapping, and the elf grinned, bowing once more.

"Sing us another!" cried another voice, and an eruption of agreeing voices came from the crowds.

"Now, now," said Lambert as he moved steadily towards Gervais, ensnaring the elf about his waist. "Let's not tire the poor minstrel of his voice! I should like a private chat with him first."

After a playful round of jeers from the crowds, they began to mingle with each other once more as the Lambert led Gervais by the hip out of the crowded ball and down the hall of his fine household.

"Your name? From where do you hail?" questioned the _Orlesian_ lord as they moved through his vast hallways, lined with portraits of the immense Lambert family. The carpet was a bright red, much like the color of blood. Gervais knew that color well.

"I am Gervais of _Montsimmard_, my Lord," answered Gervais, lowering his head slightly. Remembering to keep a timid persona, the elf's icy blue eyes scanned the halls for _chevaliers_, eyeing two posted at the grand doors of a room they approached, and a few wandering guests. He would hate to have witnesses. Killing innocents was never his cup of tea.

Lambert eventually led Gervais past the armed _chevaliers_, who examined Gervais suspiciously as he was led into the lord's private chambers. Inside, a bed fit for a king was draped with peach linens; his dressers made of oak and rugs of expensive furs.

"Well, Gervais of _Montsimmard_, I think we've come to an understanding," said Lambert as he shut closed the doors behind him. The elf pretended to be startled, turning suddenly to the human.

"My Lord?" he asked, playing coy.

"You will stay here in _Val Royeaux_, entertain my guests on occasion," said Lambert, reaching out to trail his finger down the curve of Gervais's cheekbone, "and accompany me to bed when called upon."

The _Orlesian_ lord proceeded to embrace the thin elf, holding the shorter man against himself unabashedly. He captured Gervais's silky hair in a tight grip, pulling on it roughly.

"My Lord… I wonder," whispered the black-haired elf as Lambert began to trail kisses down the length of his porcelain neck. Slowly, Gervais eased a thin blade from the sleeve of his attire.

"You wonder?" asked the aristocrat, pausing briefly in his seduction to ask the question.

"I wonder the noise you will make when you die," whispered the bard, and as Lambert pulled away in confusion, the elf raised his blade in a quick movement, sinking it into the flesh of the aristocrat's neck. Blood sprouted in all directions, dampening Gervais's cuff as he slowly eased the gargling man to the floor, making sure that his descent to the floor was quiet.

"So that's the noise," whispered the assassin to the dying man, whose eyes were wide in betrayal and shock. There was only a few moments of suffering before Gerard Lambert died with a bewildered look upon his face, and the elven bard Gervais gradually rose from his knee, retracting the blade from the corpse's neck. Slipping the dagger back into the sleeve of his fashionable attire, the elf closed his eyes, whispering a light prayer.

"Maker, _pardonner mon âme_."

Without further hesitation, Gervais instantly made his way towards the panes of Lambert's chamber, quickly unlocking and swinging them open. They were on the third floor, and it was a long descent to the ground below. Climbing onto the windowsill, the elf swung himself out onto the banister, scaling the wall until he moved close enough to a nearby house.

Making a leap of faith, the elf lunged a great distance, latching onto the roof of the neighboring household. Grasping the edge, he dangled dangerously from it, fighting the urge the look down at the distance beneath were he to fall. Summoning his upper body strength, he grunted as he pulled his entire being safely over the edge, rolling onto his back and sighing in relief.

"I see you are not on my side today," teased the assassin as he looked upward into the sky.

After a moment, Gervais gained his bearings and stood, peering over the expansive rooftops of _Val Royeaux_ with a hand upon his hip. The world was engulfed by night, but torches lit up the immense city and music danced on the breeze, bringing it to his pointy ears.

From the Lambert household, he began to hear a great deal of scuffles and noise, no doubt one of the _chevaliers_ coming across Gerard's corpse and alarming the other guards. They soon flooded the city, knocking on doors and storming the streets of _Val Royeaux_, looking for the unnamed minstrel Lambert had taken to his rooms, but the assassin had long since gone, disappearing into the night without a trace.


End file.
